Blue Hair
by Chounette
Summary: Somewhere deep within her brain, the still rational, sober part of her mind bangs her head against a brick wall. DickMac. [One shot]


**Title:** Blue Hair  
**Author:** Marie  
**Pairing:** Mac/Dick  
**Characters:** Mac, Dick. Veronica. Logan and Wallace mentions.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 1,076  
**Disclaimer:** Rob Thomas is my God. And he owns it all.  
**Notes:** My first Dick/Mac fic. My classes were boring this week, so I just decided to write and let my imagination take over. This is one of the things that came out (most of the rest was trashed). I'm not sure this even has a plot. You decide. It's set in the fall of their first semester in college, but there's no real reference to what we've seen of season 3 so far (aka the premiere).   
**Spoilers:** None.  
**Warnings:** Underage drinking. A few swear words.  
**Summary:** His fingers twist the platinum strand of hair. "Your hair." He gives it a slight tug that makes her grimace. "Should be blue."

* * *

They're drunk when they kiss for the first time.

Despite Logan's efforts to keep him on the right path, Dick still gets smashed nearly every night. By the fifth week of school, he knows every bar, every club in the area and knows which he can get in without even using his fake ID.

As mid-semester comes around and everyone is up to their neck in homework, studying and stressing over the former two, Veronica has to take on a case for her father. Everyone sees it as a breath of fresh air, a well-deserved break from school when she says she has to get into night clubs to find her bad guy and asks who wants to come along.

For once, Dick Casablancas proves to be useful. He knows exactly where she should start her investigation. Logan decides to tag along "just for fun", but everyone knows it's to make sure Veronica doesn't run into trouble. (Since she probably will, it's best if he's there to play hero if necessary.) Wallace needs the break and Mac too, even though her hatred for the upbeat, pop music they play in clubs has increased since she got stranded with a roommate who thinks Britney Spears is a goddess.

The first round of drinks is on Logan and although she's not really much of a drinker, Mac figures one drink can't hurt. Then two. Then three. As she asks for a fourth, Veronica cuts in and sternly forbids her to get anywhere near another drink for the rest of the night.

She feels weird and light and her brain is fuzzy as she rests her chin in her hand and contemplates the dance floor. Veronica is around somewhere, tailing her guy with Logan following as her slightly irritating bodyguard. Dick is – of course – babe hunting. Wallace is... somewhere. He did say where he was going, but she can't remember.

Then suddenly Dick is back, looking very disappointed and bearing a small, red handprint on his left cheek. Mac giggles and slides over a few chairs to drop into the one beside him. "Bad night?"

He grunts in annoyance, glaring at the bar and waving a sexy waitress over to order a new drink. The waitress turns to Mac and asks if she wants something. She nearly says yes, but Veronica will kill her if she does so she finally shakes her head no.

Dick is gingerly touching his face and wincing. "Frigid bitch," he mutters to nobody in particular. Mac can't actually hear him over the music, but she's very good at lip reading.

She leans towards him so he can hear her. "Got rejected?" She's smirking, and it's annoying.

"Shut up," he snaps, glaring at her.

She giggles again and brings her hand up to cover the handprint on his face. He flinches at the touch. "My hand fits," she says in amazed wonder. Somewhere deep within her brain, the still rational, sober part of her mind bangs her head against a brick wall. Hard.

"Ow. Stop." Dick's fingers curl around her wrist and pulls her hand away. The waitress returns with his drink and he has it finished in two large gulps.

Mac is still staring at the red imprint. "Makes you look pretty," she says, pointing.

His slightly unfocused eyes narrow, but he can't find a good retort to that, so he lets it go. Instead he reaches over and tugs on one of the bleached strands in her hair. "Blue."

"What?"

His fingers twist the platinum strand of hair. "Your hair." He gives it a slight tug that makes her grimace. "Should be blue."

She frowns. "Why?" Why the hell does Dick Casablancas care about her hair color, anyway?

"'Cause it's pretty." He tucks the lock of hair behind her ear. She shivers slightly when his fingers brushes against her skin.

Did she just shiver when Dick Casablancas touched her?

"It's the color of your eyes," Dick continues, and when he points she ducks away because she's afraid he's going to miscalculate his movement and poke her in the eye. "And your eyes are pretty." He leans closer to take a better look. "So blue is pretty," he concludes as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Does he even know what he's saying? Mac raises an eyebrow and instinctively grabs his hand when he reaches up to touch her hair again. "Don't," she says, trying to sound as threatening as possible but failing miserably. Even in her state of slight drunkeness, his closeness and sudden familiarity make her nervous.

"Dude, it's not like I'm gonna set it on fire or something," he protests and tries to free his hand. The abrupt pull sends her toppling forwards into him and she bumps her nose on his collarbone. He laughs as she raises her head, her eyes watering from the pain. "Geez, no need to throw yourself at me, Ghost World."

"You're so full of yourself," she retorts half-heartedly, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"That your best material? 'Cause if it is, then you totally need to find something new." His hand is back in her hair and this time she's lost the strength to fight him off. "Seriously though, you should totally go for blue. That's hot, dude." His fingers are smoothing down the bleached, contrasting locks again, and she doesn't know if it's the drinks or fatigue or both, but she finds herself leaning into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. "Like that, huh?" he says quietly and his voice startles her; she realizes suddenly that his face is right next to hers.

Her eyes fly open to meet twin pools of blue and she knows she should get away, but it's like she's rooted to the spot. Or, rather, her chair.

Two seconds later his lips are on hers and her brain shuts down completely. His lips are softer than she'd have thought and he tastes like cheap beer and vodka and whatever else he's had to drink tonight.

His hand lands on her shoulder, bringing her back to reality, and she pulls back abruptly, moving over a few chairs to put some distance between them, her wide eyes trained on him.

When the waitress walks by again, Mac stops her and, forgoing Veronica's instructions, orders another drink. They don't talk and spend the rest of the night alternating between staring at each other and avoiding each other's eyes.


End file.
